


As One

by Luthienberen



Category: Sherlock Holmes (1984 TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Marriage, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-29
Updated: 2019-05-29
Packaged: 2020-03-29 10:35:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19018168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luthienberen/pseuds/Luthienberen
Summary: Following the events in Hound of the Baskervilles, Holmes decides he needs to make his sentiments clearer to his dear Watson.





	As One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sans_patronymic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sans_patronymic/gifts).
  * In response to a prompt by [sans_patronymic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sans_patronymic/pseuds/sans_patronymic) in the [VictorianHolmesKinkmemeRound01](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/VictorianHolmesKinkmemeRound01) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
>  
> 
> The case of the wedding bracelets! (ICYMI: [we’ve been speculating on tumblr](http://sanspatronymic.tumblr.com/post/182568988310.html).)
> 
> ===  
> As the gold bracelet was spotted on Watson in the Granada episode _The Disappearance of Lady Carfax_ , I have followed the Granada order of episodes and based my story in-between _The Hound of the Baskerville_ s and the aforementioned episode.

* * *

 

 

Cries from coach drivers and the newspaper lad on the street corner mingled with the general murmur of this crowded London thoroughfare. Holmes inhaled deeply, green eyes alight with excitement. The noise, bustle and even the smells of London – some fair, most unpleasant – suffused him with a nervous energy he welcomed.

All the sights and sounds filled his mind, helping it tick over like a highly precise clock. Like a clock, or a finely tuned pocket watch, Holmes’ mind lived on being wound by the information that sleeted through this giant sprawling metropolis, all filtered by his senses to form organised shelves of information. The attic of his mind was catalogued and could be plucked for data just as his paper library.

Now he forged his own path past ladies clad in the latest fashions as well as women less fortunate. Men strolled by him on their way to business transactions, while the odd child was steered adroitly through the crowd by a no nonsense nanny.

Holmes kept an observant eye on these goings-on while searching for his objective. He strolled past a clock shop where a number of the clocks and watches had their mechanical organs on view; then odds-and-ends shop which had an old and darling microscope taking pride of place and…ah!

Mr Argent's jewellery shop stood proudly on this street of sensible middle-class locales. The windows were tastefully draped in curtains to shield from the sun on those days that the sun penetrated, or when the fog pressed close to the glass, so as to shut out the grim sight of the toxic smog.

On this drizzly autumn morning the curtains were fastened open. The cloth displays offered a tasteful collection of plain silver and gold rings, as well as a few adorned with pearls or rose quartz, or sapphires.

Earrings were also nestled on one cushion, with another cushion showing a rather elegant silver necklace hung with polished amber. It was the red cushion cupping the gold bracelets however that caught Holmes’ attention.

Delighted that this jeweller did indeed stock the type of jewellery he was seeking, Holmes quickly checked his disguise.

He was a household name by now, due to Watson's writings and his likeness could be discerned by an observant individual. Useful in the attainment of clients, not so when a delicate touch was required, such as now in this very delicate - and illegal - operation.

Under the circumstances Holmes had no desire to risk the likelihood that the shop owner was exceptionally observant, hence his costume.

Furthermore, while his cover story ought to be sufficient, Holmes knew better than to test the hypothesis, especially on the heels of the unfortunate persecution of Mr Wilde.

So first he checked that his gloves were clean; next that his accoutrements were in place and helpfully indicating his profession of that of a doctor: stethoscope in his hat, along with Watson generously – if unknowingly – lending the use of his spare Gladstone bag. Furthermore, by walking with a slight bend in his knees Holmes took a few inches off his height. A blond wig completed the ensemble.

Holmes inhaled the essence of London once more, trying to settle his emotions. His heart was fluttering and his mind ticking faster than it should, causing Holmes a sense of disorder. Watson had called him more than once a ‘machine’ and ‘cold hearted’.

Yet here he was, perspiring and with his stomach twisting most inconveniently. Holmes smiled slightly. Watson did not believe such sentiments anymore, but for the sake of his audience he still protested as such – even when in the same breath he noted how the great detective laughed or cried or clapped his hands.

It was amusing if frustrating. Still, most did not perceive beyond the obvious so it was of little concern.

Holmes relaxed his posture as best as he could, for _some_ nerves were perfectly fine for a suitor. The fact he was a suitor for a man instead of a fair lady was no-one’s business but his own and would remain so as long as Mycroft or he drew breath.

Entering the shop, Holmes shut the door quietly behind him before advancing on the counter that held the engagement bracelets. Under the highly polished glass were an assortment of gold bands. They stimulated a gentleman’s cuffs and in one or two Holmes perceived they were designed like a policeman’s bracelets.

An image of him clapping the cuffs on Watson, clicking the lock in place and declaring they were bound for life had Holmes’ lips twitching. Watson would likely forgive him for such a bold and unannounced move, but Holmes wished to do this correctly, no, _romantically_ for Watson’s sake.

Yet the locking bracelets arrested his attention and Holmes bent down to examine them more closely.

“Good morning Sir, may I be of assistance?”

Holmes looked up. A man had appeared behind the counter with a surprisingly genuine smile and touch of warmth in his greeting. He sported a fancy cravat with a pearl tie pin, a heavily embroidered waistcoat with a plain white shirt underneath. A black coat and trousers off-set the colourful and riotous cravat and waistcoat. A French Franc dangled from his watchchain, highly polished yet worn from repetitive touching – clearly a memento from a happy time. By his dress he had to be the owner for the two other staff members were dull in comparison.

"Yes, I would like to purchase two engagement cuffs Mr..?" It was easy enough to pretend ignorance, for by now putting on various guises was like breathing air.

"Mr Argent. How wonderful. My congratulations Sir!"

So he has been correct in his deductions.

"Dr Whittle is my name. Though you may be premature in your congratulations."

"Hopefully not Dr Whittle. Now, do you have a pair in mind?"

"I am quite taken with these two policeman style bracelets."

"Ah yes, a very popular fashion with the ladies. We do have more decorated bracelets in case the lady in question prefers a tasteful placement of pearl?"

"Thank you but no. I must take into account a much simpler taste if you understand?"

Mr Argent nodded enthusiastically. "Quite so. We have a number of such bracelets not in the main display case, but which differ only with the type of lock - would you be interested in casting your eye over them first?"

Holmes agreed. It was best to be certain as the right bracelet was important. Nothing less than perfection would do for Watson. So he followed Mr Argent further into shop and into a world of elegantly crafted metal and shaped crystals.

* * *

Checking his manuscripts was always the hardest job and in many ways the dullest due to the repetition of the task. In the case of _The Hound of the Baskervilles_ however, Watson found the work not so wearisome. The characters involved, along with the supernatural strains, all mingled to form quite a gothic tale.

The hardest part had been the changes to protect the identities of the real people in the affair, including poor Mrs Stapleton who had lost a husband – a foul and evil man yes, but still her husband. Shielding her from the censure of society and inevitable ruin was Watson’s intention and he felt he had succeeded at last.

As for Sir Henry, he was embarking on a world tour with Doctor Mortimer and Watson had no doubt that he would make a full recovery.

Watson read over the ending, deciding he was satisfied for now. He couldn’t publish until Holmes said so, but at least he had the draft manuscript prepared for the eventuality. Tidying away his papers, pen and ink pot, Watson wondered what Holmes was up to, which was when said man returned, as if conjured by his imaginations.

The man he loved entered in a whirl of activity.

“Watson!” cried the vision of blond hair, sombre attire and _Watson’s spare Gladstone_. At this point Watson no longer protested Holmes “borrowing” his belongings, but he did draw the line at Holmes emulating his profession.

“Holmes, please tell me you were not plying your hand as a medical doctor?”

“Really Watson, would I blacken your profession so?”

Holmes deposited Watson’s Gladstone on the chair while moving into his room, waving his hands in a nervous fashion and calling over his shoulder, “Please dress in your finest Watson. Mrs Hudson is serving us a special lunch shortly.”

Special lunch?

Watson was alive with curiosity at Holmes’ announcement.

“A special lunch Holmes? Are we celebrating the success of the Baskerville case? Or is there another occasion you have neglected to tell me about?”

“My dear Watson, we have already celebrated the closure of the Baskerville case. No, this special lunch is meant to be a surprise.”

Holmes poked his head back into the room, green eyes bright, but anxious. “I do beg your indulgence old friend. It is a matter of great importance.”

“Of course my dear Holmes. I shall be ready directly.”

Holmes’ relieved expression startled Watson. Whatever was going on was clearly unusual. Eaten up by curiosity and concern Watson hurried as fast as he was able to his room, to dress in the clothes he normally reserved for when they attended the opera together, or sneaked to a club where men of their nature could meet in relative safety, though they did the latter very infrequently now that Holmes’ name and appearance (and Watson’s) was so well-known.

Descending half an hour later, Watson disturbed Mrs Hudson sharing a secretive smile with Holmes.

“Oh Doctor Watson! You gave me a fright sneaking up on us like that.”

Their darling landlady grinned despite her words, her hands clutching the now empty tray quite tightly. Her lips trembled with suppressed emotion and her eyes were full of a desperate hope that bewildered Watson.

“I am very sorry Mrs Hudson. Have I interrupted something?”

Holmes shook his head violently and, with a bout of energy that made Watson feel alive, sprang to Watson’s chair and drew it out.

Such displays were more common than Watson had expected when embarking on an _extremely_ intimate relationship with the great detective, and he returned the gesture regularly, but done in front of Mrs Hudson still caused Watson a bout of anxiety, even though their remarkable landlady had descried what lay between them faster than the two men. Subsequently, she was protective of them like a mother over her cubs.

Yet he couldn’t spurn Holmes who tried so hard to meet Watson half-way with overt affectionate gestures, so he sat with a thank you. Holmes’ grin was so infectious and his happiness, even tarred with this mysterious anxiety, so magnificent that Watson was taken away by how much he loved this complicated man.

He noticed that candles had been lit and laid between them on the table and the lamps turned low. When Mrs Hudson walked to the windows and drew the blinds against the dreary weather, their sitting room was transformed into a rather lovely romantic scene.

That is, if one ignored the photographs of murderers, international criminals and the latest debates on fingerprinting scattered about. That and Watson’s medical journal on Mr Lister’s recent tour concerning antisepsis control. Yet, without those objects Watson supposed it wouldn’t be _them_ and he really wouldn’t have it any other way.

“I will leave you now,” said Mrs Hudson. She picked up the tray she had put down when closing the blinds and mouthed “good luck” to Holmes who inclined his head slightly.

The door shut and Watson eyed Holmes over the delicious smelling roast beef, potatoes and claret, plus a strange oblong box. Hunger for once took second place to his now raging curiosity. Watson reached across the table and gently laid a hand over Holmes’ trembling left.

“My dear beloved Holmes, whatever is the matter? What conspiracy have I wandered into? Have you and Mrs Hudson decided to infiltrate a criminal gang and leave me to fret over you both? Because if so, you shall not succeed.”

Holmes laughed, which lightened Watson’s spirits somewhat.

“Oh Watson, your imagination never fails you. I blame those penny dreadfuls you insist on reading. No Watson, our conspiracy is much more innocent though far more illegal.”

“And since when has that stopped you, or me for that matter?”

Nodding Holmes inhaled sharply as if to steel his nerves, so Watson squeezed his love’s hand tenderly in reassurance and encouragement.

“I am not a romantic man by nature Watson, or at least as others would wish it. Yet you overlook such a fault-”

“It is no fault Holmes, merely who you are. What is poetry but romance? When you play your violin for me, is that not love and romance? I do not require magnanimous gesture of romance, just the knowledge that my ridiculous detective loves me and knows I love him back.”

Moisture gathered in the corners of Holmes eyes and he blinked rapidly. His right hand curled over the mystery box.

“You delight in leaving me speechless Watson. I know you felt abandoned on those terrible moors, and I have been considering a means for you…for _both_ of us to remember our love and partnership when separated.”

Holmes’ right hand shook as he opened the box to reveal matching gold bracelets. Watson’s breath caught as realisation hit. Already tears were welling in his eyes as he looked up at Holmes, meeting green eyes equally wet, moisture reflecting pools of deep love.

“My dearest Watson. My life without you would be grey and meaningless, dreary like the day outside our snug room. I cannot marry you, but there will never be another. Will you accept one of these bracelets as my promise to you that wherever you or I go, my heart will be always with you?”

Watson swallowed the wave of affection that threatened to leave him bawling like a babe.

“My dearest Holmes, of _course_ I will wear a bracelet. I love you, my wonderful man. I had dreamt of the possibility, but they seemed like wild imaginings - empty hopes. Yet here we are, and once more your mind has thought of a way. _Holmes_ , in my opinion we are as good as married once we put them on.”

Holmes swallowed and whispered quietly as his tears finally began falling, “What you do to me my impossible doctor.”

Watson released Holmes’ left hand so that Holmes could fit the plain gold bracelet over Watson’s left wrist, as good as a band adorning his finger.

As the lock snapped into position Watson laughed loudly.

“A policeman’s handcuff? Really Holmes, you’re incorrigible.”

Watson fumbled for the remaining bracelet and as he locked it closed, kissed Holmes soundly. “There, you are caught Holmes and I pass a life-sentence on you.”

Green eyes watered with happiness and Watson felt Holmes’ lips curve against his, twitching as they brushed his moustache.

“Life-sentence accepted and returned in equal fervour,” was the hoarse reply.

Delighted, Watson cupped Holmes head and kissed deeply, before littering Holmes’ wet face with soft kisses over his cheeks, nose, shut eyes and forehead. Holmes simply revelled in the affection, laying his head on Watson’s shoulder to recover from the emotional toil the selection of the bracelets had taken, mixing with his anxiety of whether Watson would say yes. Gradually the nervous tension washed from him in a wake of the wave of sheer joy filling him a Watson’s acceptance.

It was a matter of some minutes before they were able to indulge in Mrs Hudson’s excellent celebratory lunch, though fortunately it was still warm. Watson shook his head at their landlady’s way of showing her approval and once they had finished he called for her.

Her smile and tears at the sight of their matching bracelets was another source of joy. Watson poured her a glass of claret.

Standing as a group, with Holmes and Watson clutching hands they toasted Holmes and Watson’s future happiness together.

Watson had never been so content in his life and no matter what troubles lay ahead, he looked forward to a future shared and a hopefully long, blissful and private retirement with his husband.


End file.
